


Dog Days Are Over

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Mildred is awesome, Angst, Animal Hospital, But mostly fluff, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Coincidences, Dean Smith and Sam Wesson, Dogs, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Flirty Dean, Fluff, Humor, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Librarian Eileen, Light Angst, M/M, Police Officer Dean, Receptionist Mildred, References to Canon, Sam and Dean aren't brothers, Sam is Bad At Flirting, Service Dogs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vet Tech Castiel, Veterinarian Sam, and Cas really really loves guinea pigs, sweetheart Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9303926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “What?” Cas asks, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.Sam scoffs, “Oh my God. You like him—that guy that came in after Eileen, I saw him as I was grabbing some paperwork.” He clasps Cas’s shoulder with a bold smile. “You’re too cute, Cas.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the Florence + The Machine song. Great, great band.

 

This time of morning faces Sam with the particularly hard-hitting, philosophical questions:

“Cas, why don’t you drink coffee?”

Cas leans against the opposite counter. He’s a handsome guy, with messy brown hair that touches an evenly-tanned face, falling just short of dark blue eyes. He also has a little bit of five-o-clock shadow going on that the fluorescent lights above them shines on as he shakes his head. “I never have the need to.”

“What,” Sam says, shrugging as he brings his coffee to his chest, “so you’re like an oil mine for energy?”

“Pretty much.”

“Cas, will you _please_ share your resources with the staff?”

Cas laughs, “I would if I could, Sam.”

Sam smiles. Cas knows what it’s like to struggle too—having fought for a permanent home since his ex-girlfriend, April, threw him out onto the streets with nothing to show for but the warn clothes on his back. Sam’s watched Cas, in the short five years he’s known him, upgrade from a shitty studio apartment and PB&Js to making a down payment on a condo and paying for takeout.

“So, I take it you were plenty energized over the weekend then,” Sam says with the slightest suggestiveness.

Cas may not understand every television or movie reference, but he picks up Sam’s tone with a sigh: “No, no, none of that. I just spent a quiet three days at home, catching up on _The Wire.”_

“Seriously?” Sam scoffs, looking down, “Wow. How long has it been—for _both_ of us?”

Sam’s apple pie life didn’t get handed to him on a plate sliced in nice, even sections either. Fresh, or fresh _er,_ soil and seeds, as well as physical labor, were musts to get where he is now: leaning against the counter in the breakroom that’s part of a much bigger operation—his soon-to-be self-run business, according to Dr. Ava Wilson, head veterinarian at Chosen Family Animal Hospital, sipping on his habitual Americano with cream a few minutes before opening, and having conversation with his good friend and fellow vet tech Castiel Novak.

It started with a verbally abusive relationship with his father, a previous relationship with another veterinarian Amelia that ultimately led to them becoming too emotionally dependent on one another, and sharing custody of their dog Riot, and, during both events in his life, having to drop of college multiple times.

But through all of that, there was a commonality: animals. When he was living with his father, it was a stray cat that came to their door every day purring against Sam’s leg that eventually used Sam as comfort for his hard knock life prowling the neighborhood and vice versa. With Amelia it was Riot, and with college, it was Bones, his golden retriever with a penchant for pizza.

Animals have always been there for Sam, and the best way he knows to pay them back is to help them.

Sam brings his coffee to his smiling lips one more time after the front door tolls. “Showtime.”

*

"Hi, my K9 needs a checkup. Gotta make sure those sniffers are still strong."

"I'll tell you, my ex-husband never had to get his checked out—he sniffed out trouble, _and_ chased after it."

"That's a shame. Gorgeous gal like you deserves better."

“ _Gal!_ Please, sugar, _you_ call me Mildred.” Cas watches from afar, seeing Mildred flush at the attention from the man Cas can’t see, but has a voice deeper than most canals, and he smiles. Mildred is in her late sixties. She took the job a year ago following her retirement from everything from managing top-dollar hotels to tutoring deaf children at the local rec center. She loves flattery, and definitely deserves it. "What's the name under?"

"Smith, Dean.”

"Huh, that's funny. Our main vet is Dr. Wesson."

"Wesson, like Smith and Wesson,” the man, Dean, scoffs.

"Right!" Mildred exclaims. Then, raising her brow: "That would explain why you two are _smokin'_ young men."

"Mildred, are you trying to pick up the owners again?" Cas quips as he pops into the small office, which softly plays Patsy Cline's "He Called Me Baby" from a small portable radio. Really, he just wants an excuse to see the guy behind the flirty banter, and is certainly not disappointed.

The man’s hair is a medium brown, like a Hershey’s bar with too much milk mixed into a concoction of deliciousness that bleeds into neatly trimmed sideburns. His jawline squarer than most people Cas knows, and has stubble sprinkled sporadically like fairy dust falling from Neverland. His high-set cheekbones are dabbled with orange freckles to compensate for his lightly tanned skin, and his eyes signify nature—not to mention that trunk of a chest and those thick branches for arms barely contained underneath his uniform.

The patient he’s bringing in his adorable as well: a German Shepherd with a brown coat fused with a rich black, making a wavy pattern on its body extending to its hind legs.

"Cas, honey, I don't pick up what I can't promise to put out,” Mildred retorts, a cheeky smile crossing her face as she fluffs her short and wispy blond hair. "This astoundingly kind and handsome young gentleman is Dean. He's here from the police department with a K9 in need of a routine checkup."

Cas lends his hand over the window with an easy smile. "Castiel. I’ll be happy to take you two back.”

*

"So, a librarian, huh? I like books."

Eileen laughs, "Any kind in particular?"

"Oh-oh yeah, lots," Sam replies, and he's not just saying that, he _is_ an avid reader. The passion died in vet school, but was revived again when he read some of Frank Devereaux’s works on the human condition.

Of course, he doesn’t say _that_ : “Books are great. They’re like children, I just can’t choose, you know? Not that I have children of my own, it’s just…”

_Seriously, Wesson?_

It’s way too early for an independent and beautiful woman named Eileen, with her long brown hair in a bun, rosy cheeks, and dark brown eyes as soft and inviting as pudding—and her service dog that’s an even cuter Jack Russell terrier, who came in sustaining a mild strain, to be doing this to Sam.

God, he’s such a sap.

Luckily, Eileen finds whatever he said before funny, and laughs, “I get it. I’m the librarian and I’m always half-tempted to check out the books I restock.” She pauses, considering. “I mean, I _could,_ but I’d be taking the opportunity away from someone who could benefit from it.”

“Wow,” he says, mouth parting a little, “that’s actually, um… that’s really cool.”

Eileen blushes, drawing her light pink lips to either side of her face. “What got you into vet medicine?”

Before Sam can answer, Padraic, her dog, who’s sitting on the exam bed, newly bandaged and looking like Rocky after another prize-winning fight, leans forward and licks Sam’s face.

Sam looks up at Eileen and tilts his head a little to smile: “ _That.”_

*

Cas is walking Chevy, Officer Dean Smith’s K9, from the testing room to her rightful owner, when Sam stops him in the hallway, completely red in the face.

"Trade patients with me."

"You mean the dogs or the owners?" Cas says, smirking.

Sam throws up his hands and sighs, "Cas, c'mon, you owe me after the guinea pig thing. Plus, you and Mildred know more sign language than me!"

"That's not fair—I promised you that was the _last_ one I was going to adopt!”

"You said that after the _fifth_ adoption! C'mon man, she's pretty and smart and-and—”

“Sam, so are you.”

Sam tilts his head to the side with a curious look.

“What?” Cas asks, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

Sam scoffs, “Oh my God. You like him—that guy that came in after Eileen, I saw him as I was grabbing some paperwork.” He clasps Cas’s shoulder with a bold smile. “You’re too cute, Cas.”

Cas shuts his eyes, then draws a deep sigh, “I’ll _only_ be with her a few minutes. In the meantime, tell Officer Smith when you see him I’ll be with him again shortly. Room 1.”

“Thank you, man, seriously I—Wait, did you say Smith? Like… huh, weird.”

“Right?!” Cas exclaims. “Maybe you two are long-lost brothers.”

Sam just scoffs, “Yeah, sure.”

Never tardy in his twenty seven years on this living, beating Earth, Cas goes back to Room 1 three minutes later with a proud smirk slapped across his face like a stubborn barcode. Filtering through the open door is Sam’s excited chatter with Dean over a wrestler named Gunner Lawless.

Sam excuses himself and meets Cas in the hallway. He folds his arms over his chest and closes in on himself, and even though it’s a side-effect of nerves, it’s really funny to see a pushing thirty-year-old man with a hand almost as wide as Cas’s entire face and shoulder-length, fresh-out-of-a-Fabio-paperback brown hair tense up. “So, what happened? I-I mean, how’s her dog, you know, with the sprain?”

“Mm hmm,” Cas laughs. “Eileen’s very nice—she even agreed to go on that date you asked her on.”

Sam’s arms slowly slip from his chest. “I didn’t…” Cas gives him a wink, and then Sam’s eyes are widening. “Oh my God. Cas, you didn’t—!”

Cas can’t hear him after he closes the door, leaving him with Dean and his K9 again.

Cas didn’t want to admit it, but he’s feeling a little nervous with Dean too (“Dean will do just fine—Officer is for my on-duty status.”), only because he’s so gorgeous. Add that he’s really humble on top of it, and Dean is more or less like those pies in the window you see passing on your way home from work and think, _God, I could get a slice of that right now,_ but by the time you go home and pop back in in an hour, the shelves are wiped clean, leaving behind only the sticky, saccharine residue of what could’ve been.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but point is: It’s hard for Cas to, as his mom says, “find a nice guy”, and Dean fits the bill so well, the waiter has to write separate checks.

“Sorry about that,” Cas coughs, “we had a little, um… emergency.”

“Dr. Wesson, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, if you call an emergency Dr. Wesson making serious heart eyes at that girl in the waiting room.”

Cas blanches. He’s about to apologize when Dean goes on, laughing while waving a hand:

“It’s alright.” He swings his bowlegs from the exam bed he’s sitting on before raking in Cas longer than the time it takes most people in Michigan during fall foliage. It’s not fair, considering Dean’s eyes are a deep emerald with a ring of yellow infused like an autumn kaleidoscope. “I have my eyes on someone at the moment too. And, according to Dr. Wesson, I’m in luck.”

Cas tries not to gulp too loudly: He is _definitely_ putting salt in Sam’s coffee tomorrow.  “Uh, the exam is done and currently being sent to the department for their records. His vitals look good, so Chevy is good to go.”

Dean makes a clicking noise with his tongue and the corner of his cheek. “Thanks, Cas.”

“My pleasure,” Cas says, smiling shyly. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Making Mildred’s day,” Cas says. “She’s good people.”

Dean shrugs. “What can I say; helping people is in my job description.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of, why did the department name your dog Chevy?” Cas asks.

“Oh, I named her upon request. Chevy is the make of my ’67 Impala.”

Cas nods slowly, then tilts his head the slightest with a laugh, “Alright then.”

Dean narrows his eyes with a small smile. “Why, what were you thinking it was?”

“Nothing,” Cas responds, “it’s just… I thought you were a Chevy Chase fan, maybe.”

Dean shrugs and splays out his arms, “I’m not saying I’m not. _Caddyshack_ is a classic.”

“My niece prefers _Happy Gilmore_ in her limited repertoire of golf films.”

“Oh no,” Dean retorts, face twisting, “that’s just… no. I mean, I’ll admit _Caddyshack II_ is a _definite_ no, but…”

Cas laughs softly, then, with permission from her owner, bends down to pet the steel _not_ Webb-inspired Chevy. Chevy moves her head in small circles and pushes up into Cas’s hand, which, even doing this for five years, melts his heart—right up there with the way dogs do that pose where they lie on their back and stretch their legs out like they’re posing for a professional painter.

Unfortunately, the hard part is to _stop_ petting.

“Well, thank you for bringing her in, Dean,” Cas says, lending out his hand as he stands up. “Nice meeting both of you, and good luck out there—I’m sure you’re aware the streets can get dangerous late at night.”

Dean shakes back and tosses a wink after saying, “I am, but I might have found something to keep me occupied tonight. Are you free?”

If anyone asks, Cas agrees to a date for the puppy dog look _Chevy_ gives him. Because that look from a grown man would just come off as totally inappropriate and unnecessary.

 

 


End file.
